


Potentially Pornographic Purple Prose

by Random_Nexus



Series: "The Furred And The Fae" - Sherlock Holmes canon-based AU [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Canon AU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fae & Fairies, Humor, Inter-Species Relationships, M/M, Other, Prompt Fic, Purple Prose, The Furred And The Fae, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: It's hot and sticky summer time and Holmes is distracting himself with some... creative writing.  Of course Watson finds out.Written for the Prompt: JWP #9: "The Color Purple: Either feature the color in your work today, or indulge in some purple prose." -Watson's WoesJuly Writing Prompts.





	Potentially Pornographic Purple Prose

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s yet another installment in my ‘The Furred And The Fae’ series, which began as a result of the Watson’s Woes July Writing Prompts in 2016. I guess it could have been the usual canon Holmes & Watson, but I write my 'TFATF' AU versions as a bit more playful and I find it hard to see ACD's original Holmes and Watson being this silly, IDK. Hope you like it, dear readers, however it happened.

> The humid summer air fluttered weakly past the filmy curtains at the open windows of the well-appointed and not at all too cluttered sitting room. In shirtsleeves and open waistcoats, Mr. Sherridan Williams and his dearest companion, Dr. Ormond Sacker had been attempting all evening to read in their separate pursuits; Williams a recently published magazine on European crime, Sacker the latest medical journal. Despite each of their intentions to keep their minds on their work, their thoughts elevated, eschewing the mundane wants of the flesh, the two handsome men kept stealing glances over the tops of their literature. The scent of heated flesh was a subtle perfume that teased each man’s baser impulses, the sight of the other was as an inspiration to wish for things involving fewer clothes and nearer proximity.
> 
> After nearly an hour spent in futilely attempting to study a case of three sneak-thieves accidentally stealing one another’s boodles in Lyon, Williams rose to fetch his pipe, if only to have something more to distract himself. Almost at the same instant, Sacker was standing with the obvious intention to do something involving the sideboard—possibly a whisky—and the two men nearly collided with one another. Williams caught Sacker’s left arm in a bracing grip, even as Sacker’s right palm came to rest upon Williams’ chest. The impetus of their movements, though a direct collision was avoided, still carried them a short distant closer, and their gazes locked. Their faces were so close, Williams could feel Sacker’s breath upon his chin, lemon drops and tobacco, and his eyes focussed upon Sacker’s lips, wanting them in contact with his own with all the longing in his being.
> 
> As if reading his mind—or merely suffering the same desperate want—Sacker lifted his face, body stretching, his clear intention to make Williams’ phantasy, and his own, come true.
> 
> Just before those much-imagined lips could meld with his own, Williams’ eyes caught the movement of the curtains barely obscuring the summer evening beyond the open windows. He turned his face away, gasping out, “Ormond, no, we—of all people—cannot risk treading so boldly upon the law!”
> 
> Stumbling to his chair and nearly falling into it, ~~Wats~~ Sacker threw back his head and groaned in despair, “Oh, Williams! Sherridan, how shall we bear it? This terrible law that keeps us from expressing our true feelings!”
> 
> With a manly clenching of his jaw, Williams viewed the devastation and emotional agony on the face of the being he held most dear in all the world, feeling its twin in his own heart. With a low curse, Williams strode across the room and slammed closed the windows, one and then the other, before turning back to Sacker with his head held high. “My dear, dear man, I who have held the law as something sacred must now admit to something even more vital to everything I am. You, Ormond Sacker! Come, let us forget those cruel laws and take our comfort in the true love and trust that has grown between us all these years!”
> 
> “Sherridan!” Sacker ejaculated, rising like a shot. “Do you truly mean it, my dear one?”
> 
> “I do. Come to me!” Williams had barely said the final syllable when his arms were full of the strong, warm body of the man he loved more than he loved the law, more than his hope of heaven. They would break the law and ignore the church as they found their own justice and their own paradise in one another’s arms.
> 
> Without any further hesitation, Williams bent his head and captured Sacker’s mouth with his own, wrapping him even tighter in Williams’ strong embrace. Sacker made a soft sound, too brief for a moan, yet something more than a gasp, and Williams urged his lips apart to own Sacker’s mouth as he’d dreamed of so many, many times. 

“Holmes? I say, Holmes! What _are_ you writing so furiously upon?” Watson’s voice, suddenly right next to him, broke Holmes out of his own thoughts and the rapid movement of his pencil on the paper of his ‘journal’. He felt as if sweat had burst through his skin on needles of ice and, despite having trained himself out of the behaviour decades ago, he froze for just a moment. “I know you tend to ignore everything when you’re working, but—wait a moment… that’s never the notes for a case,” Watson’s voice shifted tone suddenly and Holmes slapped the cloth-bound book closed on the pencil.

Because he was unexpectedly quick at the most inconvenient moment, Watson slipped the book deftly out from under Holmes’ hand and opened it, his honey-brown eyes flickering rapidly back and forth even as Holmes made a grab for the book. Had Watson been a normal human, Holmes would have had it, but the lightning-fast reactions of the Fae were far superior to any human’s, and just about equal to those of a werewolf. One would think the desperation would lend Holmes an advantage, but he was not to be so lucky.

“Ormond Sacker? What sort of name… oh, Holmes… really?” Watson’s face went from disapproval to confusion to a slow bloom of evil delight in seconds. “Why do you get the nicer name?”

“Stop, Watson. Give it back.” Holmes rose, holding out his hand. Watson was smoothly just beyond his arms’ reach and grinning with the mischief that was a vital part of a phouka’s makeup—or so Holmes had come to learn.

“Oh, Lord, is this… no… not _pornography_?” Watson drew the word out with far too much relish.

“That’s enough now.” Holmes took an abrupt step forward, coming so close to grasping the book that the ghostly sensation of the cloth cover lingered faintly at his fingertips. “John.”

“I had no idea you had such a delicious imagination, Holmes.” Watson’s eyes were as wide as his grin, both full of as much amusement as they were of plain lechery. “Is this the sort of thing you often think about on these stifling summer nights, then?”

“John… _Iain Mac Bhaltair_!” Holmes resorted to nearly growling John’s true name, the one from his former life in Faerie, and just knew his face was flaming with embarrassed colour.

To his credit, John stopped upon hearing his true name, and he looked at Holmes with startlement and something else. Something that had his head slowly tilting just the tiniest fraction to one side as the corner of his formerly grinning mouth quirked upward. “You want it that much, _William Sherlock Scott Holmes_?” Holmes nodded, feeling tight in his skin and flustered somewhere between anger and desperation… and… arousal?

After the subtlest flare of his nostrils, Watson’s voice lowered as he slowly lowered the book from where he’d been teasingly twitching and switching it out of Holmes’ grasp. “Then catch me and it’s yours,” he said in a chest-deep voice that nearly rumbled like a purr. “Along with anything else you might feel like claiming.”

Whatever it was showed on Holmes’ face, the instant he moved Watson was already dodging around the long table holding a variety of clutter and an emptied carafe of lemon squash. With another feral growl, Holmes leapt right over the table and landed hard on Watson’s heels as he fled in a random circuit around the room, dodging around or leaping over various furnishings, before aiming for the short set of steps leading up to the hall that connected to the linen cupboard, the bathroom, and Holmes’ bedroom.

Holmes tackled him just inside the bedroom door, crawling straight over him toward his goal, both of them writhing and struggling for the upper hand, snatching the book out of Watson’s hand with a triumphant, wordless half-shout. Both of them were breathing a bit heavily and Watson didn’t even try to get out from under Holmes as he slid back down Watson’s body until their faces were on a level.

“Anything else I might feel like claiming, eh?” Holmes queried, voice again just a sliver away from a growl.

“A bargain’s a bargain,” Watson replied, wicked glee in his expression and in his voice. He wriggled with blatant intention, hands coming to rest on Holmes’ bottom and giving a shameless squeeze.

“Sneaky phouka,” Holmes murmured as he brushed his lips against Watson’s.

“Mmm… no, _clever_ phouka,” Watson corrected, trying to close with Holmes’ mouth, but Holmes evaded just enough and Watson added, “Gullible werewolf.”

“Ha.” Holmes nipped Watson’s lower lip.

“Obviously you’ve won, but…” Watson’s eyebrows waggled suggestively. “What say you show me what you had planned for old Sherridan and Olmond?”

“Ormond,” corrected Holmes without any rancor.

“Whatever,” dismissed Watson before wrapping his arms around Holmes and pulling him down into a kiss. “ _Come to me_!” he then said in an overly dramatic voice, though his brandy-brown eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Oh, do shut up,” Holmes snarled gently as he put action to words and occupied Watson’s mouth for a time… amongst other things.


End file.
